The Masking Dawn
by as twilight approaches
Summary: Harry is captured during battle and tricked into serving the Dark Lord. With the Chosen One gone, who will save the wizarding world? And can Harry himself be rescued from the new darkness he has begun to embrace? H/D. Dark.
1. Prologue

**AN**: This first chapter is very short, I know. It's a prologue. Please don't discount this because of it's length. They get longer.

* * *

_**We can only appreciate the miracle of a sunrise **_

_**if we have waited in the darkness**_

_*****  
**_

It is the middle of the night, and despite the icy chill in the air, sweat coats Harry's entire body. He knows he is casting spells as fast as he can, but his shouts are so lost in the cacophony of voices that he can no longer tell which spells he is firing. His whole world has been reduced to action: Cast. Block. Run.  
Survive.

Jets of red light shooting past his head. Somewhere, he hears Hermione cry out. He trips over a body, and does not know whether it is the body of a friend or an enemy. He has no time to check. Point wand, cast spell, dodge.

This happened so fast. Less than an hour ago, they were at the Burrow about to travel to Hogwarts by portkey. They never suspected...

Harry stumbles again, and hits the ground. He can taste blood in his mouth. A red light sails by a foot above where he lays. Lucky fall. He rolls to the side and jumps to his feet again, shooting spells at anyone in a mask. One of his spells catches a death eater in the chest, and the man falls. Harry isn't sure what he cast, but the man isn't moving and Harry feels sick. Long, pale hair spills out from under the hood. Harry runs.

He hears the high, cold laughter and his heart clenches in his chest. He is running still, but he can't see. His glasses are gone. Then ahead he sees a figure with red hair... is it Ron? Harry squints.

"Ron!?" he shouts, and his voice is hoarse. "Ron!?"

The figure spins toward him, but Harry's vision is too blurry.

"Harry! I'm over here! Where's Hermi-"

A jet of red light, Ron falls. Harry has to calm himself down; Ron is not dead, just stupefied.

"Harry," A voice calls from behind him. He doesn't turn around, doesn't need his glasses. He would know that voice anywhere.

He freezes, listening. He hears the wand cut through the air, though no spell is uttered. He hears the wand cut through the air and then everything goes black.


	2. Captive

**AN:** This is a story I've been thinking about for a while.. I have a vague idea of where it's going but it's not set in stone. If there's anything you want to see happen then leave a comment! It's probably going to be a little dark at first. I'm a bit of a sucker for happy endings, though, but that doesn't mean I'm making any guarantees. PLEASE leave a review? :D

**Warnings: **Uh, people might die. That's life. People might do terrible things. That's also life. This will probably be H/D. Live with it. :

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling owns all of these characters, not me. I am making zero bucks from this.

Don't forget to review!!

* * *

Harry woke up slowly, keeping his eyes closed. He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten there. Was he alone? Were Ron and Hermione there? The longer his captors thought he was unconscious the longer he'd have to think things through.

First, he needed to figure out how he was doing physically. He wiggled his toes, and felt them rubbing against his shoes. Good. His legs were still attached, at least. He tried to move his arms, but could only shift them side to side. His wrists were shackled above his head, probably to the stone wall that he was lying against. His head hurt, and his wrists were beginning to sting, but that was the worst of it.

He opened his eyes, but everything remained pitch black. Harry went through a moment of terror. Was he blind, or was it really dark? Would he ever see again? And where WAS he?

The last thing he remembered was hearing Voldemort's voice. How had he ended up fighting Voldemort? That's right, the portkey...

The portkey was supposed to take them to Hogwarts, but instead took them to a field edged with trees. The Death Eaters had been waiting there to ambush them. Harry swallowed, his throat dry. One of the Order of the Phoenix was a traitor.

Harry was still for a few moments, blinking back tears. The one group of people he had thought he could trust... How many of them were working for Voldemort? Had his friends found out who they were? Or were his friends all dead? Harry snarled, yanking his wrists against the shackles. Not knowing was driving him crazy- it was worse than any torture he might be subjected to now. He kept picturing Ron and Hermione lying in that field somewhere, dead. Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Sirius, Lupin, Madeye, Tonks... The list went on and on. Were any of them alive? He felt his throat constrict and his eyes welling up with tears again. He shook his head. He had to remain calm. He would be dead within minutes if he couldn't keep a clear mind.

Time passed. Harry's fingers were numb and his wrists felt like they had been set on fire whenever he moved them. It was cold, and it was dark, and he did not know whether it had been minutes or hours or days. He would hear things, sometimes, in the deafening silence of his cell. He would hear the voices of his friends calling to him, he would hear Voldemort's laughter, and he thought he was going mad.

Time passed.  
His back was beyond sore and when he couldn't feel his toes. His lips were cracked and sometimes he could taste blood on them. How long had he been there? His stomach would rumble sometimes, and the sound was enough to make him want to cry: it was a real sound, _real_, not like the phantom voices of his friends and the shadows of his enemies. That was almost enough to make him ignore his hunger. Almost.  
Were they going to let him starve? Was that the plan? Let Harry Potter waste away like an _animal _and then dump his emaciated body at the feet of the Minister?

Sometimes he would cry.  
Very rarely would he sleep.  
_How long?_

And when the door finally opened, he flinched from the light, trying to hide his eyes behind his arms. It hurt, and fresh blood oozed from beneath the shackles. Was this real?

The same high, cold laughter. "Of course this is real, Harry," Voldemort said, "You didn't think I was going to let you waste away?" He tutted, and the paternal quality of the sound made it all the more horrid. "Harry, I hope you accept my apology. I had urgent business to attend to in Britain... Matters of war, you understand. I'm afraid my followers didn't take very good care of you. The smell alone is unbelievable. Have you eaten, boy?"

Harry couldn't believe that it was Voldemort talking. He turned his face towards the light, squinting. Even with out his glasses, he wouldn't mistake that tall, sloping form for anyone else.

"Why didn't..." He tried, but his voice came out rusty and unintelligible.

"Why didn't I kill you, Harry?" Voldemort laughed. "I don't intend to kill you. I admit that killing you was my initial plan, but I have learned much since then. Killing you now would be a waste."

"...My friends?"

"All perfectly alive, I assure you. Except perhaps one or two... The Death Eaters were a little overzealous."

Harry didn't understand. Why stage that attack if Voldemort didn't plan to kill anyone? What was the point?

"Oh Harry, your mind is like an open book. All of them will die in time, of course. But I would rather give you the opportunity then steal it all for myself."

"You think- You think I would kill them?" Harry whispered, his mind slowly clearing. "I would never. I don't care what you do to me. You can let me starve- I would never hurt any of them!"

"I think you will change your mind."

Harry snarled, grinding his teeth. "I am never going to change my mind."

"Then you force me to change it for you."

"You can't, you stupid old man! You can't! Go ahead and kill me. Go ahead. I will _NEVER_-"

"Ah, Harry," Voldemort sighed, "You don't understand the situation that you are in. I already said that I am not going to kill you. Believe that."

"And why not!?"

"Because, Harry, you hold something very precious to me."

Voldemort glided closer, hovering over Harry. Harry froze, his eyes locked with the Dark Lord's. Voldemort bent closer, his snake-like face studying Harry's scar. He reached out with one hideously long finger, hovering just above the lightning shape.

Pain hit Harry with the force of a hurricane. It felt like his head was about to burst. He writhed against the wall, crying out. He clenched his eyes shut against tears, ground his teeth into his lips.

Voldemort's finger traced Harry's scar and and it felt like a trail of acid, of fire.

"You have... A part of me, Harry, inside of you."

Harry could feel Voldemort's breath ghosting across his face like tear gas.

"And keeping you alive... Well, it helps to keep me alive. You understand."

Harry whimpered. He could barely hear the cutting voice through the haze of pain. Voldemort withdrew his hand, and glided backwards. The pain lessened, leaving Harry quivering against the wall.

"You have just become my most secret, deadliest weapon. You will be of greater help to me then you can comprehend. Of course," Voldemort sighed, his mouth twisting ruefully, "I guessed that you wouldn't help me willingly. But never forget, there is a part of me inside of you. I intend to bring that part out, to nurture it, to bring in to its full potential. You, Harry, are merely a vessel for that power. I don't need _you_, I need your body and your magic. Brought up as you have been, you cannot give me what I need. So I suggest we start over, Harry, a new life."

"...What do you mean?"

"It's very simple," Voldemort drawled as he withdrew his wand.

"_Obliviate._"

* * *


	3. Truth

Hey everyone who doesn't read this story. :] So uh, I'm still more inspired to write this one than A Perfect Failure, even though this has like 0 reviews and no one reads it. xD I can't help it. It's going to be good eventually. :/

I don't own Harry Potter or anything to do with it, JK Rowling does.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore was alone in his office for the first time that day. People had been rushing in and out, in and out, all with leads and news and plastered on smiles that were betrayed by the crushed look in their eyes.

They had lost Harry Potter.

They had lost.

He sighed. The heat of the fireplace before him could not melt the ice that had take up residence within his lungs. He was not young, as he had been once. His hair had gone snow white and his eyes were surrounded by deep lines. Though he tried to disguise it, his hands were no longer steady but shook constantly. He had to use a wand to pour his tea.

He could not fight another war. He always knew he wouldn't live to see this one to the end. It had been acceptable, though, because he knew that Harry would take over, Harry would lead the Order of the Phoenix and Harry would win. Dumbledore couldn't do this without Harry. The thought that Harry might not just be missing, but dead... That thought awakened a deep fear within the headmaster. Of course, it was unlikely that Harry was dead. If Voldemort had killed Harry he would not have hidden the body- he would have wanted all of Britain to know that the Chosen One had been defeated. No, they would all know if Voldemort had murdered Potter.

So then where was the boy? What had happened to him? Why hadn't they found him? Dumbledore sank into his chair. Harry had disappeared under Dumbledore's watch. Albus had procured the portkey that had taken them to the clearing. If only he had been- more cautious... stronger. But he hadn't. He had only to do one thing to ensure Voldemort's downfall: protect Harry. Just that one, that most important thing. And the knowledge that he had failed struck him more painfully than a sword- it was like a never-ending cruciatus.

The door to his office opened, but Albus was too tired to bother greeting the next intruder to his privacy.

"Albus," the voice was harsh and afraid.  
"Severus," Dumbledore murmured, lifting his head.

Severus was paler than usual, and his hair and robes hung limply off of him. His eyes darted about the room before focusing on the headmaster for a small second. He began to pace, back and forth, like a wild animal in a cage.

"Severus, have you any news?"  
"News? ... No. No news. I- haven't heard anything at all from the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore waited for Severus to explain his intrusion. He was in no mood to waste time prying for the answer.

Snape ground to a halt. "Albus, I'm worried they suspect something. From- me. I haven't heard anything- anything at all- not about Potter, not about anything. The Dark Lord hasn't spoken to me in over a week... But he looks at me. He looks at me like he- like he suspects."

Albus clasped his hands together, unsure, for the first time in many years, how to answer.  
"Severus, I would have urged you to try- to remain a spy for us amongst the Death Eaters despite any increased personal risk to you. You know how important you our to our success... the whole of Britain benefits from your sacrifice."

Snape calmed. "I thought you would say as much. I am prepared should the worst happen-"

"However. Things have changed. No one has seen or heard anything about Harry for months. You know as well as I do that without him we have little chance of winning. Maybe we can beat them back... but we cannot defeat Voldemort once and for all."

"Are you saying that I-"

"I am saying that, with things such as they are, you should consider... fleeing. I would not have your life wasted."

Snape's mouth twisted. "Run away? That was not my intention in coming here. Running would not save me. He would find me. You know that."

"We have ways of hiding you, protecting you-"

Snape let out a bark of laughter and sneered. "Like you _hid _Lily? Like you _protected _her son!?

I will take my chances where I am, Albus. If I die at least I will have died with honor."

The Potions Master exited the office without a farewell, slamming the door shut.

Albus Dumbledore stared at his hands, which trembled. He did not feel like a great wizard in that moment, like the only man Voldemort had ever feared. He just felt old.

* * *

Up several flights of stairs from the Headmaster's office and behind the portrait of the fat lady, Hermione and Ron were speaking in furtive whispers.

"How can that be, Ronald?"

"Hermione, I swear it's the truth. Harry isn't in St. Mungo's."

"Are you daft? Where else would he be?"

"That's the thing. That's exactly the thing. No one knows."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Who told you?"

Ron shifted in his seat, glancing around the room to make sure it was still empty. It was past midnight, so the other students were sleeping, but it couldn't hurt to make sure. Satisfied, he leaned closer to Hermione to explain.

"Technically, no one told me. Don't interrupt. I overheard it. I know, you disapprove, but otherwise we'd never have found out. Didn't you think it was strange that no one was allowed to visit him? It's been... it's been four months, Hermione. Four months and we haven't seen him once nor has anyone confirmed -why- he's in St. Mungo's in the first place. I was going to break in to see him- Of course I'd tell you, Hermione, I'd expect you to come with me- so I was trying to learn anything I could. And... Well, it's not good."

"Go on."

"It's better than the worst. They think he's alive- they just don't know where. That night with the portkey- wasn't it strange that none of us were killed? They just stupefied us. I always thought it was odd that Harry would have gotten some unnamed curse when the rest of us were just knocked out for a few hours. The truth is that- that- Harry has been missing since that night. They supposed the Death Eaters had him at first, but Voldemort would have killed him-"

"And... we would know... if Voldemort k-killed him. Oh.." Hermione buried her face in Ron's shoulder, wrapping her arms around his neck. Ron froze at first, awkwardly, but he could hear her beginning to cry and so folded his arms around her.

"W-why would they tell us he was in S-St Mungo's?" She asked, her voice muffled.

"They're telling that to everyone... don't want to cause panic.."

Hermione went still. "C-cause panic?"

"He's the Chosen One. He's the one everyone's counting on. He's the reason most people are still fighting. If they knew that he was missing..."

Hermione shot to her feet, hitting Ron in the nose with her shoulder.

"That's r-ridiculous! That's terrible and totally ridiculous! We could have half of Britain looking for him! We could have found him! If I'd have known- Are you sure? I can't believe this! Didn't want to cause panic," she scoffed, "They could have told us. They _should _have told us! All those flowers and cards I've been sending to him, thinking he could read them and know we hadn't abandoned him in that place... It's been four months. FOUR MONTHS. He's off somewhere on his own and he has no idea- he probably thinks we don't care about him... probably thinks we've given up on him. How could they!? Stupid bloody order! I can't-"She paused, and took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Ron. We have to find him."

Ron nodded. "I know. But where do we start?"

Hermione frowned, tapping her finger against her chin. "I don't care what the Order thinks. I don't trust them anyway. Death Eaters must have Harry or he would have come back or contacted us ages ago. He wouldn't just go off on his own without telling us- and then what would the whole point of the attack have been if they weren't after Harry?"

"Exactly what I thought."

"So we should start with Death Eater strongholds that we know about..."

"Like where?"

"Like Malfoy Manor," Hermione said.

"We can't just charge into Malfoy Manor without any knowledge of the place, Hermione. We have to make a plan."

"Oh, Ron, I can't believe -you're- telling -me- that," she said with a watery smile. "I just... It's been four months and we haven't done anything. He'll think we've abandoned him." Her eyes started to well up once again.

Ron grabbed her hand. "Listen to me, 'Mione. Harry's strong. He knows us. He knows we'd never give up on him."

"What if he's..."

"He's alive," Ron said, "He has to be."

Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes with her free hand. "He's alive. Alright. He's alive. Now we just have to... do research... Library... UGH!" she let out a cry of distress, "That will take too long! I have to go _now!_ He could be- We have to _go!"_

Ron squeezed her hand. "Shhhh, we mustn't wake anyone. I have an idea."

"You think we should get information from Malfoy?"

"Well... no, that wasn't my idea."

"What was it?"

"Nevermind. Yours is better. Lets go." Ron started towards the portrait.

"Ron."

"We can corner him, get him to talk. You're good at memory charms, right?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"So we get answers then make him forget it happened. Serves him right, bloody git."

"Ron, it's one in the morning. He's asleep. Inside the Slytherin dorm."

Ron stopped walking. "True."  
He dropped Hermione's hand and stood still, clenching his fists.

All this time he'd thought Harry was in St. Mungo's, that he'd finally get to see him soon. If not with permission then by sneaking in. He'd tried to several times, but he'd always been caught. All those letters, the christmas present, thinking Harry was safe, thinking Harry would get better... All that time wasted. He should have tried to find out the truth sooner. It hadn't been so hard to adapt the twin's extendable ears to get passed the spells on the door. He could have found out months ago. Harry could be with them right now, instead of off in some dungeon somewhere alone... alone except for the Death Eaters, who were probably torturing him to death slowly. Four months Harry had been in danger somewhere and he and Hermione had done nothing. Ron tensed, gritting his teeth together. And what if it was too late when they found him? What if they couldn't find him? What if Harry had died last night? What if he died tomorrow? Died thinking that Ron and Hermione hadn't bothered to rescue him. The anger building inside of Ron began to bubble hot and heavy, his knuckles whitening and his breathe speeding up. If only they'd been told the truth from the beginning. He growled, fire building in his veins with nowhere to go. He tried to channel the rage into his fist, drove his fist into the wall; it didn't work so he tried again, leaving a bloody print against the white plaster, leaving a black crater. Again, he would try again until-

Until he felt a small cool hand on his back and he heard her asking him to stop. The cool hand calmed his rage, which he had only just then allowed himself to feel. The fire in his veins diffused and his vision blurred with tears that he hadn't let out until now. He'd been to busy to _feel,_ he'd had to make a plan, tell Hermione, find Harry. And now, with a few empty hours left until they could find Draco, there was nothing left to distract himself with. Ron sank to his knees and cried.

* * *

And on that note, :]

uh, Draco and Harry will both be in the next chapter. Maybe not together. I dunno yet. I'm kind of winging it. P:

And if you -are- reading this... please, for the love of god, leave a review. I don't care if it's short. Just like, leave SOMETHING. ._. *emo corner*


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